


myself, a swinger of birches

by theseourbodies



Category: Flashpoint (TV), due South
Genre: Crossover, Flashpoint season 2, Gen, due South post-series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:45:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8926429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseourbodies/pseuds/theseourbodies
Summary: An ongoing series of connected one shots. 
Or, Fraser requests the assistance of SRU team 1.





	1. one could do worse

**Author's Note:**

> Set during flashpoint season 2-ish
> 
>  
> 
> **Obviously I have no idea what RCMP/ urban police relations are like. I have applied an American federal power/local power dynamic to this crossover, apologies of that's incorrect.**
> 
>  
> 
> Also, it's Ray V on the phone. He's in Chicago because it's my future fic and I can do what I like.

Honestly, it’s the flip phone that gets her attention first.

Jules is a little earlier than she’d like to be, the result of pushing herself through her morning routine to compensate for the time she and Sam used to be able to waste in the mornings—even with the relationship finished she finds the patterns hard to break; it leaves her at loose ends more times than she will ever admit to anyone. But being early means that she can stop for the good coffee from the place down the street and grab some of the donuts nobody but Spike will admit they eat. So, Jules is juggling the bag of donuts and her own coffee, heading for the elevator when she catches sight of a guy talking on an honest-to-god flip phone and does a literal double-take.

He’s conscientiously out of the flow of traffic through the lobby, off to the side and next to one of the benches along the wall; his feet are wide-set and, bizarrely, he has a Stetson hat held against his body with his free hand. Besides the parade-rest stance and the hat, though, he looks like any other working man in the early winter— heavy flannel, jeans, and winter boots. He’s absolutely still in the controlled way that Jules recognizes as coming from training, not predilection, but even with the stillness he gives the impression that he’s bouncing lightly on his feet, smiling softly at nothing as he listens patiently to whoever’s on the other end of the call. Waiting for the elevator and watching surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye, Jules sees the smile get to more than one woman who crosses it. She’s biting back a smile herself when the elevator finally dings and the doors open; as she steps in she finally gets to hear the man get a word in edgewise--

“Well, no Ray, it’s not really like that at all. In fact, the Strategic Response Unit is a highly versatile and—Of course not, Ray. Yes, Ray…. You know I really do think—“

\--before the door cuts off his smooth voice and the elevator whisks her away.


	2. poise (poised)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg befriends himself a Mountie.

"Morning, Winnie.”

“Morning, Sarge. There’s a, um, there’s a Sergeant Fraser from the RCMP here to see you?"

Greg’s eyebrows shoot up. “A Mountie?" Interesting. "Any idea what Sergeant Fraser needs with the SRU?”

“He here to officially request help with the execution of a warrant, he said. I asked him to wait for you in conference room one. And Boss?” Winnie dropped her voice to a whisper, leaning across the desk. “Don’t let him apologize again for being early, I didn’t think he would stop when he started earlier.” She settles back, grinning conspiratorially. “Honestly, I think he might be a little nervous.”

Greg nods solemnly, “I’ll keep that in mind, thank you. Tell the team to feel free to come in whenever they’re ready, he’ll need to meet them anyway. Thanks, Winnie.”

Sergeant Benton Fraser did, in fact, try to apologize again after Greg stepped in to introduce himself, but it was easy enough to get the conversation on track again; he may have been overly conscientious, but there was a focus in Fraser’s expression that Greg freely called upon, getting them quickly to the matter at hand. Fraser was some indeterminate age between “young man” and “old man,” bright eyed and relatively unweathered despite the grey splashed along his temples. His hand in Greg’s was rough and scarred, but his smile was sincere; five minutes with the man and Greg felt at once invigorated and infinitely more comfortable in his own skin than he’d been all morning.

“If you don’t mind waiting a little longer, Sergeant, I’ll get my team together and introduce you to them all at once; then you can let us know what it is you need and we’ll proceed from there.”

“Thank you, kindly,” says Fraser, “I confess that I’ve been looking forward to meeting you and SRU team one. I apol—“ he coughs awkwardly at Greg’s kind but firm look, and continues, “Ah, that is to say, when I tracked the suspect to Toronto I was glad to see that there was a unit whose knowledge of the city and expertise in advanced tactics I could call upon.”

Greg grins, touched by the compliment. “Well, we’re always happy to help a fellow law enforcement official, Sergeant Fraser. Winnie said you’re here about the execution of a warrant?”

“Officer Camden was correct, yes. With luck, this is the last step in the successful capture of one Michael Morris Froehicke. And, if I may Seargeant Parker….” Fraser pauses awkwardly again, one thumb scratching at his eyebrow in an unexpected display of agitation, “You can feel free to just call me Fraser, please. I, ah, my promotion was rather recent. To fall back on a cliché expression, my father was Sergeant Fraser; I’m not quite used to hearing it in reference to my person and not his, yet.”

There’s a long history there, Greg can read it in the straight set of Fraser’s shoulders and the unhappy bracket edges of his mouth. “Of course, Fraser. Since we’re of a rank, so to speak, you can feel free to call me Greg. Less of a mouthful.”

That gets Greg another earnest little smile. “Thank you kindly, Greg.”


	3. and so I dream of going back to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fraser reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secretly all of my DS fic is peripherally about Ray Vecchio, and I'm only a little sorry.

Intellectually, Fraser knows that despite Officer Michelangelo “Spike” Scarlotti’s markedly strong Italian heritage, there is no way that he is even remotely connected to the Vecchio clan in Chicago, IL.

In the way of irrational flights of fancy, of course, this in no way lessens Fraser’s desire to ask Officer Scarlotti if he does in fact know of the Chicago Vecchio’s. He bites back the question half a dozen times, aggravated at his own foolishness. This is no time to be— well, homesick is the incorrect phrase. As easy as it has become to leave the Northwest Territory for the Windy City, it is always a round trip; he inevitably comes back to the Territory, not the other way around. Still, the warm glad feeling that suffuses Fraser whenever he returns to his cabin is always in fierce competition with the sensation of being known, seen for the first time in months that comes when he meets Ray Vecchio to start one of his frequent visits. In a down moment between Sergeant Parker—Greg’s introduction of SRU Team One and Fraser’s distribution of relevant case material, Fraser hears Ray’s voice from that morning, grumbling about “good, old fashioned SWAT teams” and “the principle of the thing, Fraser;” he thinks about what it means to be sick for a person and sick for a home.

Fraser’s blood is up; the hunt is winding to a close. Greg’s team is ranged around him, watching expectantly--experts, all of them, and due his absolute focus and attention. There would be time enough to examine his emotions later. There is work to do— _But I have promises to keep /And miles to go before I sleep,_ Fraser thinks ruefully, and gets down to the business at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got strange on me pretty fast.

**Author's Note:**

> I realize Frost is an American but, well. It fit.


End file.
